


Too Much To Handle

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other, Thor and Mjolnir get to know each other better, anal penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "A trusted weapon becomes an extension of the self in a way no other thing could ever be. You must treat it like a limb and learn to use it as such, connecting with it again and again as it continually proves itself to be your defender, your savior."





	Too Much To Handle

You get to know something after spending a life with it. This is true for places, groups, objects, perhaps everything else. And it is in every being’s nature to empathize, to find traits of an animal or a piece of technology that they resonate with, and to latch on to those traits. Personifying, anthropomorphizing, humanizing.

A trusted weapon becomes an extension of the self in a way no other thing could ever be. You must treat it like a limb and learn to use it as such, connecting with it again and again as it continually proves itself to be your defender, your savior.

It was no surprise, then, after years of constant companionship, that the loss of Thor’s hammer felt like a loss of an arm. Though he stayed strong without it for the sake of survival, and though the realm of Midgard had plenty of distractions to lose himself in, his longing for Mjølnir grew painful in its intensity. He felt vulnerable without its comforting weight in his grip, and utterly alone without its companionship. Forged from forces even he didn’t fully comprehend, Mjølnir had a surprisingly human presence, though Thor never noticed this until he’d lost that presence entirely, as is the case with most comforts.

The horror and panic he felt at being unable to lift Mjølnir in the desert was worse than believing it gone for good. To be so close to retrieving such an integral part of his identity, only to be cruelly rejected, was almost too much for him to handle.

What didn’t quite occur to him was the the grief went both ways. Though primitive and simple, Mjølnir _did_ have a consciousness of sorts; it had to, in order to receive commands and instructions. Tony Stark would later liken it to a thoroughly trimmed-down version of his “Jarvis.” Mjølnir got used to inputs and commands from Thor and Thor alone, and found itself the favored weapon of a very caring owner. It was pampered and polished, and wielded with such power and tact that it had itself forged a strong bond with Thor.

And then, of course, it had been commanded by Odin to refuse Thor’s demands.

It was a harrowing bout of cognitive dissonance that the weapon’s narrow consciousness couldn’t process. On one hand, it had received a command from one of the few people it had deemed worthy of commanding it; on the other hand, though it had to admit that Thor had strayed from the righteous path, it _wanted_ to be Thor’s. Mjølnir _wanted_ Thor. A hammer wasn’t supposed to desire someone, but sitting among the rubble of its descent and the camp erected around it by S.H.I.E.L.D., Mjølnir realized this was the case.

Mjølnir was all too eager to be receiving commands again when Thor was finally able to summon it. It dislodged itself from the horrid dust of Midgard and flew to Thor’s side at twice the speed as usual, as close to elated as it could have been with its limited capacity for thought. If Mjølnir could have articulated itself, it would have asked Thor never to let it touch the ground again. As it were, all Mjølnir could do was radiate a sense of belonging so strong that even Thor picked up on it.

After one of the best battles of its existence, Mjølnir was content to return to Asgard for weekly spars and a good, thorough polish. But it did not find satisfaction in either of these things, and it struggled to parse why. It was fulfilling all of its necessary functions: it was used, and used very well, as a weapon by an Asgardian of noble and worthy stature. Why was it feeling as if something was missing?

It took a few weeks of processing for Mjølnir to come to a conclusion—something that a hammer rarely had to do. Mjølnir had acquired a new, unofficial objective during runtime, something it was never meant to do, but was certainly possible with what little flexibility its technology provided.

It wanted to please its master.

It was a logical extrapolation of its duties, all told. It needed to follow commands and perform admirably in battle, which both involved pleasing whoever wielded it. The objective had simply widened in scope to encompass all other things. And being linked to Thor’s will directly, it could tell that Thor was not pleased with something. It just didn’t know what was wrong, or how it could help. So it began analyzing Thor’s behavior, looking for simple patterns that linked to Thor’s dip in satisfaction.

Thor was distraught in the aftermath of his ordeal. He lost a brother and a lover in one fell swoop, with one definitely lost and the other facing impossible odds. Though plenty of Asgardians were working on replacements for the destroyed Bifrost, it would take many years to complete any of them.

Loki, though perhaps not as sane or well-balanced as Thor had once believed, had still been his brother, and though his methods were confused he had truly aimed to prove himself worthy of protecting Asgard as king. Losing him and his familiar company was bittersweet, and left Thor’s shoulders heavy with many unanswered questions and unresolved tensions.

And the lovely Jane Foster…. Her impact on him was immense for someone he barely knew, but it was real, and he felt the press of her lips and the electricity in her gaze often. Visions of her ghosted across his dreams whenever his heart seemed to have laid her to rest, rousing him in the night and dragging him on pointless walks through Asgard. He would lay prone in bed and stare at the ceiling during breakfasts, longing desperately for the delicacies that Jane had made. Especially “pan-cakes.”

Mjølnir found its consistent pattern there, and latched onto it. Thor became the least spirited and active in the nights and mornings, so it would attempt to write a protocol and lift his mood then. But this brought another challenge: how could a hammer console a god?

Thor’s distress was visible even to those who didn’t know him. He was usually the picture of a vibrant warrior: a hearty laugher, a hefty drinker, and an eager lover. But Thor wouldn’t partake in any celebrations after peace was restored to Asgard, and certainly wouldn’t attend run-of-the-mill revelries anymore. It went beyond the humbling that Odin had intended—this was a true and honest depression.

Mjølnir accessed its past observations on Thor’s behavior, something it stored passively now being raided for data on Thor’s mood and correlating stimuli. Thor was at his highest pleasure and strongest will when doing certain activities, and Mjølnir was desperate to find a way it could please him once again.

Thor was happy around other people, usually, but lately his will and mood had dipped significantly around others, so Mjølnir labeled this protocol as currently defunct.

Of course Thor was happy in battle, but Mjølnir couldn’t well initiate a spar itself. Asgard was at peace, and even it knew that Thor would not be pleased if his hammer struck a peaceful citizen in an attempt to spark a fight. Defunct protocol.

Thor was also very happy while eating and drinking his fill, but of course Mjølnir was not edible, and couldn’t exactly prepare a meal for him without limbs. Defunct protocol.

There was one other thing that usually lifted Thor’s spirits, but…sex required a body. Flesh. Mjølnir didn’t have that. Defunct protocol.

This couldn’t be! Mjølnir was not made to give up on its duties so easily, so it re-analyzed, breaking down each activity to its specific components. It was more work than Mjølnir was made for, more than its limited thought capacity was meant to handle.

So it was no surprise that one night, when Thor tried to lift Mjølnir for its biweekly polish, the metal of its handle was disquietingly warm.

“Whoa! Is something wrong, old friend?”

Nothing was wrong, but Mjølnir was dedicating all its processing power and limited knowledge to finding a way to please its master.

Battle. Release of adrenaline and aggression. Mjølnir could not directly cause a release of adrenaline and aggression without harming its master. Defunct.

Thor picked up Mjølnir from its spot on his bedside table and placed it on the bed. He figured the odd heat was Mjølnir’s reaction to its unfamiliar disuse. He hadn’t sparred in quite a while; maybe Mjølnir was feeling abandoned? He hardly understood how the weapon’s intelligence worked, but even gods had that odd quirk of humanizing their technology.

Food. Sustenance. Renewal of key molecules on the cellular level. Mjølnir couldn’t provide key molecules on any level. Defunct.

Thor undressed for bed, preferring to be in his nightclothes when polishing Mjølnir. It was a calming ritual, and the smooth, soothing sensation of polishing his faithful Mjølnir was one of the few things that put Thor at peace.

Sex. Stimulation of the nervous system at key areas to fulfill procreation instincts. Mjølnir couldn’t procreate…but it could stimulate. It _did_ have the power to move towards its master. Where was a god’s pleasure center…?

Thor felt something warm press against his bare backside, and he flinched, dropping the shirt he’d been holding. Mjølnir had slid across the bed, blankets bunching around its head, and was positioned with its handle facing Thor. This was something Mjølnir had never done before, and Thor was beginning to worry that something was wrong with his beloved weapon.

“Oh, Mjølnir, I pray nothing has harmed you, too. I couldn’t bare to lose you as well.” Thor picked Mjølnir up and placed it on its special spot near his bed, then bent to pick up his nightshirt.

He felt a pressure against his backside again, harder this time.

“Mjølnir, come now!” Thor looked over his shoulder to eye the weapon accusingly. “What do you want?”

Mjølnir suddenly inched forward and slid up to touch a spot on Thor’s body that not even a lover had touched before. Thor grunted in surprise and turned away, pressing his bottom down on the bed for protection.

“Mjølnir! What’s gotten into you?”

In a show of sentience that was rare, but not unheard of, Mjølnir flipped through the air and landed on the bed at Thor’s side, still offering the end of its handle to him.

Thor squinted down at Mjølnir warily, then picked it up and put it back on his bedside table. Mjølnir couldn’t actually be offering to…? No, of course not!

Sighing, Thor flipped the covers up and writhed into bed, overcome with worry for yet another night. He’d have to take Mjølnir to the weaponry the next day and ask someone to—

That pressure again, but this time Mjølnir didn’t hesitate, and went right for his center. It didn’t penetrate—it wouldn’t do that without its master’s approval, of course—but this was the only way it could make Thor aware of its new objective.

Thor had absolutely no idea why Mjølnir was suddenly behaving so inappropriately. Or perhaps it wasn’t _that_ inappropriate? It was a _hammer_ , after all, not a person. Even so, Thor felt as if a dear friend was suddenly making a move on him. Why would Mjølnir want this?

Mjølnir tapped Thor yet again, almost eliciting a shriek of surprise from the god this time. It was obvious that Mjølnir wasn’t going to give up on this new objective, unless Thor managed to find a box it couldn’t break out of.

His shock and confusion subsiding, Thor was actually finding himself _intrigued_ . It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about using Mjølnir for… _other_ purposes before. When you’re accompanied by an object for so long, you’re bound to wonder about it at least once, just as with a person.

He had lube and condoms in his bedside drawer, of course—what lover wouldn’t have such necessities on hand?

And these walls were, of course, soundproof….

Thor sat up, grabbed Mjølnir, and dragged it to face-level, looking at the head of his hammer as if he were making eye contact with another person.

“I will indulge this nonsense _once_. For the sake of convenience. But in the morning, I will expect cooperation when I take you to be repaired. Do you understand?”

As if confirming it had received the order, Mjølnir flew out of Thor’s hand and positioned itself in the middle of the bed, handle at the ready.

All Mjølnir wanted was to attempt to lift Thor’s spirits. If its master wanted no more of this after one night, then Mjølnir would certainly obey and find some other way.

Thor applied much more lube to Mjølnir than the situation dictated—almost a full bottle. Normally it would be ludicrous to let such a heavily-used weapon graze even an open wound, but Mjølnir was made of materials that, by their nature, could harbor no pathogens, meaning it was always sterile. Thor knew this well, and knew there was no danger to his well-being, so long as he was careful. If Mjølnir was any other weapon, then Thor would never think of letting it violate him. But Mjølnir was Thor’s constant companion. He trusted it.

Nervous with an edge of perverse excitement, Thor crouched above Mjølnir and slowly lowered himself, until the end of Mjølnir’s hammer was directly against his center. Hissing a final breath, he forced himself lower.

He’d had his own fingers there, once of twice, but this was something new entirely. Mjølnir was _overwhelming_ , and Thor winced at the strangeness of the sensation. Mjølnir was not made for this purpose—its handle was angular and none too gentle. At least Thor hadn’t had Mjølnir’s carrying strap attached—that would’ve posed entirely different challenges.

Thor controlled the pace at which Mjølnir entered him, the hammer standing by and aware of its owners discomfort. But as Thor felt Mjølnir press deeper and deeper into him, his unease gave way to desire, and his cock hardened in approval. He stroked himself absently, concentrating on easing onto Mjølnir.

It was physically impossible for all of Mjølnir to enter Thor, but the weapon was aware of Thor’s physical constraints, and stopped him from pushing further when it felt Thor was at his limit. But Thor was panting, mouth gaping at the sensation and the thrill he was getting. Why didn’t he do this with all his lovers? It felt amazing!

Then Mjølnir began moving of its own accord, and Thor melted.

Somehow it knew just where to push, just how hard to press, just how fast to start out and how much it should speed up. Or maybe it was just a lucky estimate. Thor bit his lip and suppressed as much sound as he could, for the sake of his own dignity rather than the sake of not getting caught.

Mjølnir’s ridges were perfection, and Thor had to fight with himself to hold his position and not writhe across the bed. He gripped the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. This was more difficult than any battle, and the best he’d felt in _ages_. He wanted to prolong it as much as he could.

And suddenly, Mjølnir hit _just_ the right spot, and Thor absolutely _exploded_. He was just as surprised as he was euphoric, and somewhere in the back of his mind he registered a peal of thunder and the crack of lightning outside his windows.

He’d wanted to try and stick it out, and he was used to the restraint required to suppress an orgasm—he never came before his partner did so first, as a courtesy. But Mjølnir was doing all the right things, and Thor didn’t feel the steadying pressure to reciprocate, so the second Mjølnir found his prostate, it was all over.

Thor came in his hand, hardly having enough presence of mind to direct himself. Moans ripped from his throat unabashedly as Mjølnir slowed its pace inside him. Mjølnir itself felt Thor’s afterglow and was satisfied—its new objective had been completed.

After spending a moment or two in shock of what had just happened, Thor tugged Mjølnir out of himself as slowly as it had gone in, hypersensitive and groaning with every twitch and tug he felt. Finally his weapon and he were two separate entities again, and he sighed as he rolled over onto his back, content.

“Well…I hope…that’s what you were so…eager for, Mjølnir.” An unfamiliar, responsible part of Thor spurred him to grab Mjølnir and drag himself to the bathroom, washing its handle off before placing it back on the nightstand and flopping into bed. For a moment he tensed, worried that Mjølnir would return and demand more of him, but the hammer stayed in its spot this time. All it had wanted was to please Thor, then. And maybe that wasn’t so bad; they’d basically been partners for almost all of Thor’s life. Thor had enjoyed it, and Mjølnir…well, Mjølnir was a hammer. But it had definitely wanted this, for some reason.

That didn’t matter much though, because Thor had made up his mind: he wouldn’t take Mjølnir to be repaired tomorrow. No matter what had just changed between him and his trusted weapon, he knew he could handle it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a dare commission. I worked on this for five hours in exchange for three dollars. This is not my kink. Please leave me alone. I wish I wasn't alive. Let me rest.


End file.
